Come and Find Me
by Princess-Warrior 17
Summary: "I'll always find you. Whenever, wherever. I'll always find you and come back to you. It doesn't matter if we're two feet apart or two thousand miles apart. I'll find you, Jack Merridew." Ralph Harrison made that promise to Jack when he was thirteen. Can he keep it when he's thousands of miles away in the navy? Modern Day AU with Jalph (Jack/Ralph) slash.
1. Chapter 1: This Love

**Author's Note: **

_Hi, everyone! This is my first LOTF fanfiction, so I really had no idea what I was doing. All I know is that I'm a huge Jalph (Jack/Ralph) shipper, so I had to write something about them. Anyway, please be gentle in terms of reviews. This is my first time writing slash, too, so I just winged the whole thing. I hope it's okay..._

_This is dedicated to a friend of mine, Thursday-26. Her story, "All of Your Love," kind of inspired me to write some Jalph of my own. You should check her out if you haven't read her stuff. She's pretty awesome :)  
_

_And one thing to note about my writing style is that I tend to do a lot of dialogue. Not sure if that bothers anybody, but it's a warning. Oh, and Jack is a bit OOC in this story. He can get pretty emotional, so be prepared. The whole story is in his POV, by the way.  
_

_One more warning: I'm notorious with not updating, by the way. So, if you're actually interested in this story, I apologize if I don't have chapters up every week. I'll be lucky to have something every month. Please be patient, and I'll give you chapters. _

**Disclaimer:  
**

_I don't own Lord of the Flies. I wish I did, though. Who wouldn't want a real life Jack and Ralph? Haha. I also don't own "This Love," by The Veronicas._

* * *

**Come and Find Me**

Chapter 1: This Love

JACK'S POV

* * *

_"Jack, where are you?" a quiet voice asked. _

_The familiar sound of shuffling filled my acute ears, and I held my breath. One sound from me and he would find my hiding place. _

_ "Jack Merridew! I know you're somewhere in this house. Come out, come out, wherever you are!" he sing-songed. _

_ Closing my eyes, I drew my breath out slowly, hoping that the sound wouldn't give my location away. Despite being in a closet with the door shut, I was still afraid he'd find me. I wedged myself even farther back into the space, between two large boxes. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them._

_Suddenly, the door creaked open and he came in, breathing softly. Damn it. He was going to find me. _

_The figure started to shift things around in the room, and when he arrived at the boxes, he let out a grunt to budge them. When he finally managed to shove them aside, I could feel a stream of light hit my face. The warmth of a small hand on my cheek caused me to unravel from my crouched position. _

_ "Found you," he murmured. _

_ My eyes fluttered open, and a smile spread across my mouth. _

"_Hi," I said, standing up. I should have been slightly miffed that he discovered my hideout so quickly, but all I felt was relief. _

_ "Hello," he answered back, his own lips curling into a grin. _

_ "How do you do that?" I mused. "How can you find me that easily?" _

_ He shrugged. "It's simple, Jack. I'll always find you. Whenever, wherever. I'll always find you and come back to you. It doesn't matter if we're two feet apart or two thousand miles apart. I'll find you, Jack Merridew." _

_ My heart skipped a beat at his statement. His words weren't supposed to have an effect on me. We were thirteen-year-old boys for God's sake! I wasn't supposed to feel this way about my best friend. I was supposed to joke around with him, and do guy stuff like play video games and talk about girls. I wasn't supposed to have stupid butterflies and buried desires. But I couldn't help it. He had had this effect on me for a while now, and it turned me into useless pile of mush every time he was nearby. _

_ "Okay," I said, nodding. "Okay. I'll hold you to that." _

_A minute of silence passed between us, gathering a bit of tension. Things had been changing lately, and more and more of these moments occurred. I wasn't sure what they meant. All I was aware of were my own frustrations, and how I couldn't act on them. Instead, I cleared my throat, blushing. _

_ "It's my turn, Ralph. Although, I probably won't be that good at finding you," I laughed, gently nudging him. _

_ "I don't know about that. I'm a good seeker, but I'm not the best hider. That's kind of your thing." _

_ "How about we make a bet?" I suggested, waggling my eyebrows. _

_ Ralph let out a small groan, running his hand through his blond hair. He flicked his bangs out of his big, sparkling blue eyes. "Uh, no. Last time we made a bet, I ended up with a huge stomachache from all the milkshakes you had me guzzle. I was sick for two days!" _

_ "Hey, it's not my fault you lost! I'm Jack Merridew. You were silly to think that you could beat me in a two mile race. Please, I can run faster than you." I rolled my eyes. _

_ "Whatever. That was an unfair race, okay? You've done track before, so that gave you an advantage." _

_ "Aw, poor Ralph," I said in a fake-sympathetic tone. "Anyway, are you in or not?" _

_ "Depends. What do you want from me?" _

_ My cheeks flushed an even deeper pink at the ideas floating around in my head. I tapped my chin, striking a 'thinking' pose. _

_ "Hmm…how about the loser has to do whatever the winner wants for an entire week."_

_ "Like I slave?" he questioned, folding his arms across his chest. _

_ "Yeah, like a slave. But there are conditions, of course. The slave should do whatever the master wants, but nothing to endanger his life. We wouldn't want that. And this only applies when the two of us are together. When we're at home, we can be ourselves again. School does count, though." I grinned. This was going to be too easy. _

_Ralph's lips quirked into a smirk, giving him a mischievous look. "You're on. Prepare to follow my orders, Mr. Merridew."_

_ I scoffed. "As if. You'll be my slave, Ralph Harrison." _

_ His eyes narrowed. "Start counting and we'll see." _

_ As soon as he said that, my eyes fell closed. "One…two…three," I began. _

_ Ralph's loud feet started to tear through the house as he searched for a hiding spot. He cursed a couple of times as tripped over things in his way. The boy was usually clumsy, but my messy house didn't help. _

_When I reached one-hundred, I opened my eyes. "Ralph Harrison, you're going to be mine," I whispered, dashing after him. As I rounded corners and looked underneath and behind objects, I desperately wished that fact would come true. _

_ A half an hour later, I still couldn't find the weasel. "Dammit, Ralph! Where are you?" I shouted, so he could hear me. _

_ I was met with silence. "Where is that boy?" I asked myself, re-checking all of the places I had already seen. Then, a sudden vibration shook my leg. My hand grabbed the phone from the pocket of my jeans, and I flipped it open. _

_ The text read: _

_**Give up yet? :P **_

_Ralph. The scoundrel was teasing me! Frowning, I typed out: _

_Where the hell are you? I've been searching for 30 minutes!_

_A few seconds passed before a reply came back. _

_**Not my fault you suck at finding me. Give up yet, Jack? ;) **_

_Nope. I'm gonna find you. Even if it takes me all day. Can I get a clue?_

_**As if I'd tell you where I'm hiding. You'll figure it out. Maybe haha. **_

"_Damn you, Ralph," I muttered, shoving the phone back into my pocket. I started sprinting frantically around the house, searching every nook and cranny possible. Finally, after another hour of searching, some cursing, and a few groans of frustration, I shot him a text. _

_I give up. I hate you, mate. Where are you? :( _

_It didn't take long for another text to appear in my inbox. _

_**Meet me on the roof**__, was all it said. _

_What? How in the world had he gotten on the roof? A surprised laugh left my mouth and I shook my head. Only Ralph would find a way to get on the roof and call that his hiding spot. _

_How did you get up there?_

_**Used your bedroom window. Just crawl through it. It's easy. **_

_Rolling my eyes, I started walking in the direction of my room. _

_I'm surprised you didn't fall off and die. Didn't think Mr. Clumsy could do something like that._

_**Shut up. Just get your butt up here. **_

_Be there in a second._

_Once I reached my room, I made my way over to the window. It was shut, so I dragged it upwards so I could get through it. Luckily, I was fairly thin for my age, so wiggling out of it wasn't a problem. Sure enough, when I got outside into the crisp, London air, Ralph was sitting on the roof with his back toward me. _

_I carefully inched closer, avoiding looking down. Heights and I never mixed well, which was why I rarely went on the roof. I occasionally did it out of sheer boredom, but other than that, I tended to avoid it at all costs. _

"_So why the roof?" I asked when I had gotten close enough for him to hear me. _

_He shivered slightly. I wasn't sure if it was from my proximity or the wind, but I hoped it was the former. _

"_It's the least likely place you'd find me," he answered, turning around to gaze at me. His blue eyes stared into mine. They were like an ocean, but were smoother than water, and held much more emotion than strong, steady waves. _

"_Well, you're right. Never would have guessed you'd pick this place. A clumsy person usually doesn't go for dangerous locations like a roof." _

"_Don't mock me, Jack Merridew." His voice was low and breathy. _

_Now I was the one who shivered. "And what if I do?" I had noticed how close we'd gotten. Only a few inches separated our faces. _

_He shook his head slowly, a little smile forming on his mouth. "You're my slave now. You have to do as I say, which means you shouldn't mock me."_

"_Oh. And what does my master want me to do right now?" I quirked my eyebrow, playing along. On the inside, however, I couldn't quell the feeling of disappointment. If only he was my slave. He would have to succumb to all of my wants, whether they were inappropriate or not. He would have been mine. But being his slave, I'd probably just have to do his chores or carry his books at school. Internally sighing, I braced myself to hear such things. _

_He drew nearer, running his hand down the length of my arm. He bent his head and murmured into my ear, "I want you to you to kiss me, Jack." _

_At his words, I scooted back a foot, so that there was more distance between us. "What?" I stuttered, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. _

"_You heard me," he sighed, dropping the sensual tone. _

"_But why?" My eyebrows probably reached my hair line at this point. I was utterly confused. Why in the world would he ask something like that? _

"_Jack, don't pretend you haven't noticed things changing. We're thirteen now, not five. Don't tell me you haven't seen the way I look at you. And I know that you look at me the same way. I __**like **__you, Jack. God, I like you. And I don't understand it all. I'm a boy, you're a boy. This isn't supposed to happen. We're supposed to feel this way about girls. But whenever I think about them, I get all disgusted cause they don't hold my interest. They don't drive me crazy like you do. Jeez, Jack. If you can't figure out that I'm mad about you, then you obviously don't deserve me…"_

_He didn't get a chance to finish his rant because I found myself leaning in and capturing his pouty lips with mine. His lips were unbelievably soft and they tasted a little bit like honey. He didn't kiss me back at first, probably because he was shocked, but slowly, I felt pressure on my lips. As he returned the kiss, he looped his arms around my neck, pulling us closer together. Eventually, oxygen became a necessity, so I let go of him. _

"_Wow," I said quietly, reaching for his hand to intertwine our fingers. _

"_Wow is right," he laughed. _

"_Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked, lifting our joined hands to gently run my lips over the back of his hand. _

"_What was I supposed to say? 'Jack, I have this huge crush on you and I'd love for you to be mine.' Yeah, right. You would have run away from me." He frowned slightly, furrowing his brows._

"_No, I wouldn't have. Ralph, can't you see that I like you, too? I've liked you ever since we became friends, practically. I was worried about scaring __**you**__ off. It's not easy to put my feelings out there, you know. It's terrifying, in fact."_

"_I know. Trust me, I do. But what does this mean? For us, that is." _

_I reached out with my other hand to brush the hair out of his eyes. Tilting his chin up with my pointer finger, I made our gazes lock. "What do you want it to mean?" I asked calmly on the outside, but my insides were churning rapidly._

"_I want it to mean that there is an 'us.' I want it to mean that we don't have to wait around like we've been doing. Because honestly, I want to be with you, Jack. I want to be able to kiss you and hold your hand. I don't want to have to keep these feelings inside anymore. They're driving me up the wall." His voice dripped with sincerity, and his eyes rippled with so much passion that if I wasn't careful, I was going to kiss him senseless right then and there. _

_Still, I had doubts of my own. Despite being head-over-heels for this boy, there were still some things that stopped me from jumping in and saying yes. "But what about people knowing? We're thirteen, Ralph. And even though times are changing, not everyone will be happy about it. And our parents? What will they say?" _

_He pressed a finger to my lips. "I don't care, Jack. Dammit, I've waited years for you to realize how I feel. If it bothers you, we can keep it a secret. Then maybe one day when you're ready, we can tell everyone. We will tell them, though. I like you too much to hide everything forever. I won't pressure you. When you're ready, just let me know." _

_He removed his finger and leaned back to smile at me. His pearly whites showed, while his dimples popped out. Again, I had to resist the urge to latch my mouth onto his and kiss him for an eternity. It was like he was a drug, addicting and deadly. And I was the poor person who got sucked into the world of the drugs, into a world of Ralph. _

"_Does this mean what I think it means?" I squeaked out. _

"_What do you want it to mean?" he threw back at me, arching an eyebrow. _

_And this time, I answered him with a kiss._

* * *

My eyes flashed open after the memory-dream faded. A soft breath left me as my hand automatically reached for the other side of the bed, but it found nothing. Groaning quietly, I sat up, blinking in the darkness.

A shadow of a person was moving around the room, picking things up. When I realized what was going on, I rasped out, "Ralph, why are up so early?"

"I'm leaving soon," he muttered distractedly, continuing to grab clothes and other items to throw them into a large duffel bag.

"Again?" I asked, dropping my head in my hands.

"Yes, Jack. I told you I was on leave for two weeks. Two weeks are up. I've got to go," he replied in a strained voice.

I didn't have the energy to argue with him. It was too early in the morning for one thing, and I didn't want to fight before he left for another set of long months.

"I wish you didn't have to go," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks grow hot. Every time this happened, I let my walls fall. Normally, I wouldn't be nearly this vulnerable, but something about losing the one person I truly loved had a way of changing my perspective.

He stopped what he was doing and came over to sit down on the bed beside me. He clicked on the bedside lamp, so some light could spill around the room. Reaching over, he took my face in his hands. His expression softened as his blue eyes swept over me, taking in the disheveled hair and tired eyes. He inched closer to touch his lips to my forehead.

"I wish I didn't have to go, too. You know that," he whispered.

"Do I?"

"Of course you do. Jack…" he trailed off, but instead, tugged me into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around my torso, and I pressed my face into the side of his neck. My lips brushed the skin softly, while he ran his hands up and down on my back.

"You honestly don't know hard it is for me. God, Jack. If I could spend the rest of my life in your arms, I would. I don't understand why you'd have any doubts about that. When I'm with you, I'm home. Being at sea for the better part of my life isn't pleasant. But it is what it is."

"Then why are you still there?" I pulled back a bit, so I could see his face. Folding my hands in my lap, I watched him silently for a response.

This question had been invading my thoughts lately. Ralph and I both knew how difficult it was to maintain relationship like ours. He spent around ten months on a ship with the navy, fighting for our country, while I stayed in London. The distance was killing both of us, and I wasn't sure how much more I could take of it. Call me selfish, but I desperately wanted Ralph to leave the navy for good to be with me.

"You know why." He shrugged, but a frown remained on his lips. "I've told you a hundred times."

"I know," I sighed. "You want to follow your father's footsteps. He died for England, and even though you don't wish that upon yourself, you want him to be proud of you. I understand that, but really? Do you always have to put that in front of us?"

I could see the faint outline of his jaw and how it had become a tad tense. He was probably going to launch into a massive explanation about why he wasn't putting the navy first, and that this was really for the best. My shoulders slumped at the very idea of fighting. This was not the way I wanted to spend the morning. But his jaw slowly relaxed after a moment. He decided to take a hold of my hand, weaving his fingers through mine.

He took a deep breath before saying in a soft tone, "Jack, I love you more than anything. I love you more than the stars that twinkle in the sky, more than the wind that ruffles my hair in the summer, more than the oxygen I need to breathe. I love you so damn much that it literally tears me to pieces when I have to leave you. But you know the real reason why I'm gone all of the time. You know that when I'm on that ship, I feel like I'm worth something. Look at you, you're a lawyer. You help people fix their problems every day. That's what I'm doing when I'm away. I feel like I'm helping to fix and defend the country. Please believe me when I say that there's no place for me in London at the moment. Maybe someday there will be, but not now."

Despite his argument, I couldn't help but feel defensive. "But you went to college, Ralph! You and I both went to school and you're still in the navy! You could get any job out there with your talent and charisma. And yet, you decide to be as far away from me as possible. Why?" Each time he left, it always felt like this. Like my heart was being violently ripped out of my chest and shattered into a million chards.

He sighed once more. "I won't ever be able to give you an explanation that will make you see that this is the right thing, will I?"

I shook my head. "No. I guess it's a moot point on both ends, huh?"

"I suppose it is. But you have to know that I never want to leave. I just have to."

I wanted to say, _No, you don't! You don't have to leave. Please don't leave me._

Of course, I knew that nothing I said would have made a difference. Ralph was stuck on that blasted ship until he chose to get off of it for good. So I bit my tongue and didn't say anything. I just stared at the man whom I loved with every part of me, feeling my insides shake and break.

Suddenly, without a word of warning, I was on my back with Ralph hovering above me. His lips were a couple of centimeters away from mine, but if I tilted my head a smidge, we would be kissing. I stayed where I was, eyes glazed over at his action, too surprised to even move.

"You know, my four years are up when I turn twenty-six. Right now, I'm twenty-four. I can officially get out soon, Jack. Then, we can be together forever," he murmured lowly, tracing his lips across my jaw and down my neck.

"You'd consider leaving for good?" I asked, trembling, both from his touch and the news.

"Maybe. Perhaps by the time I'm twenty-six, things will be squared away. Maybe I'll be ready to work in London. If you still want me by then, that is." His lips continued to graze my skin, but he paused in between kisses to get his words out.

I flipped him over, so that I was straddling him. "I'll always want you, Ralph," I growled playfully. "Today, tomorrow, and every day until I die. Never forget that." I began to run my lips over his cheeks, his eyes lids, his forehead, and then finally, his lips. Somehow, they managed to taste just a bit like honey every time.

I went to pull his white t-shirt over his head, but he grabbed my hand. "I've got to get moving, Jack. We don't have time right now," he reasoned.

Pouting, I rolled off of him, so that I lay next to him. "Way to ruin my fun," I groaned.

Chuckling, he scooted closer to tangle his hand through my red hair. "Sorry, baby. Maybe next time, though. When I'm back, we can go at it all night long if you want to."

Damn, next time couldn't come fast enough. Not with an offer like that.

I sighed, nodding. "All right, but I call being on top."

"You've got yourself a deal." He smiled broadly, dimples appearing instantly.

"I had a dream, by the way," I said, changing the subject.

"Oh? What was it about?" He stroked my hair, occasionally stopping to run his nails over my scalp. God, that felt good.

"It was actually a memory. About our first kiss."

"You mean the one on the roof when we were thirteen?"

"Yeah. I remember everything about that day. It was one of the best of my life."

"You're pretty cheesy, you know that?" he laughed.

"_Please_. I'm cheesy? Just a moment ago you said and I quote, _'Jack, I love you more than anything. I love you more than the stars that twinkle in the sky, more than the wind that ruffles my hair in the summer, more than the oxygen I need to breathe.' _If that's not cheesy, I don't know what is."

"Hey! Those things are true. I try to be romantic and all you do is criticize," he scoffed.

I smirked. "I'm not criticizing. In fact, I find it adorable."

"I thought you hated that word. There was one time you said it wasn't 'manly' to use or something like that."

"Oh, shut up. I can use it when I want to," I shot back, grinning.

A slow blush made its way onto his face as he said, "That as one of the best days of my life, too."

Instead of answering him, I leaned in for another kiss. He responded quickly, exerting as much passion as I was. Our tongues danced together in a steady rhythm and our heartbeats were in sync, playing like an orchestra.

But in the next minute, the large grandfather clocked chimed, which made us pull away.

"I have to leave in fifteen minutes. I'm sorry." He grimaced, rising to get out of bed.

"It's okay." It wasn't, but I couldn't tell him that. Fighting was not a good thing right before his departure.

"I'll make you breakfast," I added, leaping out of the comfy oasis that I called our bed. I made my way into the kitchen to flick on the light.

"Thank you, dear," he answered in the same distracted tone from before.

I sighed, opening the cupboard to fetch a pan to cook with. In the next fifteen minutes, I finished making him a simple breakfast sandwich with eggs, sausage, and cheese. I wrapped it in a piece of foil so that it would stay warm, and placed the fresh coffee I brewed into the travel mug.

He came out of the bathroom, dressed fully in his navy uniform. He had his packed bag in hand, but he dropped it when he saw me with his meal in my arms.

"You really are too nice to me," he chuckled.

"You're lucky you have me." I stuck my tongue out at him, laying the food down on the kitchen table.

"I know I am. Sometimes I think I don't deserve you." He stepped closer, winding his arms around my waist.

"You'd be right, Mr. Harrison. But I love you anyway, so you're stuck with me." I smiled, and then our lips met in our last kiss.

When the clock chimed again, he unlatched his lips from mine, but kept his arms attached to me, refusing to let go. And just like every time before he left, he echoed those same words from years ago, "I'll always find you. You know that. I'll always find you and come back to you. It doesn't matter that I'll be thousands miles away from you. I'll come back to you, Jack Merridew. I swear."

I tried to blink away the tears that burned in the back of my eyes. Luckily, they didn't manage to escape, but my chest heaved from my struggling breaths.

"Okay," I responded shakily. "Okay, I'll hold you to that."

"Good." He withdrew and walked over to get his breakfast. In one hand, he held the food and in the other, his bag.

"I love you, Jack. I'll write you when I can, but I promise that I'll be back," he said quietly.

"I love you, too, Ralph. I always will." I clutched onto a nearby chair, so my weak knees wouldn't give out.

He turned then, striding to the door. Unlocking it, he opened it and a blast of the chilly London air floated inside. As soon as he walked through the door and shut it, I fell into the chair.

My head went into my hands. My heart ached and ached, and I could feel the familiar steel bars wrapping themselves around my heart. Every time Ralph was home, the steel bars would break and free me from the torture and hurt. But whenever left, the bars crushed my heart, bruising it in the worst way possible. I was prisoner then, feeling nothing but pain.

I sighed, glancing at the calendar. This was going to be a long eight months.


	2. Chapter 2: Vanilla Twilight

**Author's Note:**

_Hello again. I didn't expect to have an update this quickly. I guess my random bursts of inspiration can amount to something haha. Thank you for anyone who has read the first chapter, reviewed it, or liked it. It means a lot :) This chapter is longer and not quite as action packed. Please enjoy, nonetheless. And there will be a longer author's note at the bottom to explain some things. _

**Disclaimer:  
**

_I don't own Lord of the Flies or "Vanilla Twilight." The rightful owners are William Golding and Owl City. _

* * *

**Come and Find Me**

Chapter 2: Vanilla Twilight

JACK'S POV

* * *

***4 Months Later* ~**

_BUZZZZZZ!_

"Damn," I muttered, rolling over in bed. My annoying alarm kept blasting at full volume, ripping me out of my peaceful sleep. Reaching over, I grabbed the awful device and opened my eyes to find 8 o'clock staring back at me. My hand touched the knob to shut off the blaring noises.

A part of me just wanted to say, 'Screw it. There's no need to go to work today.' But the more rational side knew I had to get moving. Doing what I did for living had no breaks for anything. Choosing the latter, I rose carefully, swinging my legs over the ledge of the bed. Once my feet touched the ground, I shuffled over to the bathroom to start preparing for the day.

A half an hour later, I was freshly showered and dressed in a black suit and tie. Gazing at myself in the bathroom mirror, I tightened the tie around my neck. I looked fine, except for the fact that my blue eyes lacked energy and enthusiasm. They were empty, and had been that way for the last four months, ever since Ralph left.

I was managing, just like every other time. I couldn't just mope around for eight months. I had a job to deal with, bills to pay, friends to see, and a flat to look after. Honestly, I didn't have time to whine about it. All I could do was accept that he was gone and wouldn't be back for quite some time.

Of course, there were still moments where I simply couldn't handle it. They usually came at night, when I was alone in bed. Tears would unexpectedly fall from my eyes, and my breaths came out heavy as I struggled to breathe. I would clutch his pillow, pressing my face against it to catch the faint scent of him that lingered. I would glance over at the framed picture of us on the nightstand near his side of the bed. And each time, my heart would break all over again. Then, the next morning, I would get up and start my day, forgetting the ordeal from the night before. It became a vicious cycle, one that I loathed. But there was nothing I could do. My only option was to fight through it until he returned home.

The only positive part was that Ralph and I wrote each other often. I wasn't sure how it worked exactly, considering he was on ship most of the time, but at least I was able to hear from him. He did stop at ports occasionally, and that's when he would send me things. I had received a few gifts from him like a bottle of our favorite wine, a silver pocket watch (which I always wore), and a box of amazingly delicious chocolate. I sent him items in return to remind him that my heart still belonged to him and only him.

Sighing, I shook my head to clear it of any thoughts regarding Ralph. I had to focus on getting ready for work. Turning away from the mirror, I strode into the kitchen to brew some coffee and make breakfast. In a matter of minutes, I sat down at the small dining room table with a ham and cheese omelet and fresh hazelnut coffee.

As I ate my meal, my eyes wandered, taking in the sight of the quaint flat I shared with Ralph. After we decided to move in together, we had searched a million places for the right home. We came across this one after many tries and fails. And just like that, it was ours. The rent wasn't bad, but we did have to fix it up quite a bit. Luckily, Ralph and I were good at renovations, so it didn't take long for us to have it look perfect.

Our flat was only one floor, but it still felt complete without an upstairs. There were two bedrooms; our master one and then a guest room. The dining room branched off into a slightly larger kitchen. We both liked to cook, so we made it a priority to find a kitchen that could fit more than one person in it at a time, plus all of the kitchenware. Without a doubt, the best part was the fire place in the main room. It kept the flat warm, and it comforted me on lonely nights.

It was Ralph who had chosen the colors and designs of our home, though. He wanted everything to resemble an island, so we would always feel relaxed. Since we lived in London, there was hardly any island paradise in sight. The next best thing was to create our own oasis.

He picked out a light tan color for the walls and aquamarine blue for the trims. Pictures of beaches all around the world clung to the walls, expanding the 'island' feel. I had no problems letting him loose with the decorations; that was kind of his thing. Mine was to install things and make sure they worked.

The loud chime the grandfather clock tore me out of my thoughts. My eyes shifted over to the object as I took in the time. I had about ten minutes to get to work or I would be late. And my nasty boss was not a man who was keen on tardiness.

I stuffed the last few bites of food in my mouth, dropped the dishes off in the sink, grabbed my briefcase and car keys, and headed out of the door. Quickly jumping into my silver Bentley, I started it up and sped off towards the law firm.

The ride didn't take long, but then again, I was a horrid driver. What would have been a ten minute drive for any normal person only took me three. It wasn't like I intended on driving like a bat out of hell; I just loved the rush of flying through the streets, not giving a care to traffic patterns. Ralph always screamed when he was in the car with me. He hated my driving, which was why he insisted on being behind the wheel when we were together. I sighed, internally scolding myself for thinking about him again.

"Got to focus on work," I reminded myself.

I parked my car neatly into a space and got out, briefcase in hand. Once I was inside of Flies Law Firm, I started in the direction of my office, but was intercepted by Robert Mulligan, the solicitor*. His lips curled into a smile as he came closer, ready to bombard me with questions.

"Hello, Jack. How are you doing? Did you work on the case at all over the weekend? It's a wild one, isn't it? The woman seems like real whack-job. I'm glad you're prosecuting her. I think she needs some time in the big house. No wonder her husband wanted to get as far away from her as possible…" he rambled, pulling on his suit sleeves, an annoying habit he picked up recently.

"Robert, slow down. One sentence at a time," I laughed, gently nudging him out of the way so I could get to my small office around the corner.

He followed silently behind, shuffling his feet as he did so. When I reached the familiar door, I unlocked it swiftly, plopping the briefcase down on the wooden desk. I took out a few files from it, holding them in my arms as I dropped into the swivel chair. I motioned for him to take a seat in my 'client' chair.

"Sorry," he said, flushing slightly. "Bad habit of mine."

Chuckling, I nodded. "Yes, it is. So is pulling on your sleeves." I pointed at his exact action, raising my eyebrows.

"Right. Sorry." He stopped what he was doing, clearing his throat. "Anyway, what I wanted to ask you was if you got a chance to look over those briefs I sent you."

Frowning, I shook my head. "No, I didn't read them yet. I'm sorry, but the past three days were spent with Roger. He drug me out of the flat to have 'a good time.' Of course, his idea of fun is a lot different than mine. The whole weekend was full of alcohol, billiards, poker, and me losing money."

"So, Jack Merridew does know how to cut loose," Robert said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Good job, mate. Didn't think you had it in you."

Scoffing, I rolled my eyes. "Okay, I resent that. I may be a workaholic, but there are occasional moments when I'm not pouring over some case. It is my fault I'm friends with Roger, though. That man is a wild card."

"Isn't he in medical school? I thought Roger Collins was the serious type."

"_Please._ Being in medical school has no effect on Roger. He's every bit of a trouble maker now as when he was a kid. You grew up with us, Rob. You should know that he won't ever change. Not to mention, he's a con-artist. He scammed me out of fifty pounds!"

He let out a chortle, nodding. "Yes, that's true. Good ol' Roger. He got you smashed, huh? How did he manage to do that?"

"Carefully, I suppose. He's definitely a sneak. But it wasn't just him that decided to invade my flat and take over my weekend. Sam, Eric, Maurice, and Simon all came along, too. Simon didn't drink or get rowdy, but I rest assure you that the others did." I couldn't stop myself from grinning. Despite my life situation, I did have my friends to thank for keeping me somewhat sane.

"Simon never does anything wrong," he snorted.

"True. The boy is a saint, no doubt."

"Merridew, Mulligan, what the hell are you two doing sitting around?! Shouldn't you be reading cases, briefing them, or figuring out your damn arguments?" a shrill voice sounded, interrupting our conversation.

I cringed, turning my head to take in the sight of our boss, Mr. Flies. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed in a defiant manner. He had on his usual gray suit with his beer belly tucked inside. His brownish-gray hair remained in its normal comb-over style, and his chunky bifocal glasses were perched on the brim of his nose. His red, round cheeks were flushed with anger. In a way, he resembled a pig: pudgy, disgusting, and an overall nightmare.

"Sorry, Boss. We were…discussing the case," I lied, clutching the files closer to my chest.

Mr. Flies glared at the both of us, making a guttural sound in back of his throat that was a cross between hacking up a hair-ball and a scoff. He pointed a plump finger at me, pulling his face into a sneer.

"Don't try to cover up your mistake, Merridew. Get your arse to work or you'll be gone before the day is over. And I don't think you want that because the case you have in your hands could rack up a hefty amount," he snarled menacingly.

"Yes, Sir," I gulped. There weren't a lot of people who intimidated me, but my boss was one of them. He had a way of constantly making my insides churn.

"Mulligan, get your arse out of Merridew's office. You should be in your own, working on soliciting. God, why did I hire you imbeciles?"

Robert paled and pulled on his suit sleeves again. If Flies made me uneasy, he frightened Rob to death.

"O-okay, S-sir," Robert stuttered, rising out of the chair to exit the room with his head bowed. Poor guy. He would probably be scared shitless for the rest of the day.

"Don't just sit there, Merridew. Use your thick head and do something useful," Mr. Flies growled, turning on his heel to undoubtedly go and terrorize other barristers* and solicitors of the firm.

I rolled my eyes at the antics of my boss, and set the files down. I was about to open them to read when suddenly, the phone in my pocket vibrated. I pulled it out, glancing at the door nervously. We weren't supposed to use any technology while on the clock; Flies' rules. Lowering the device beneath the table, I unlocked it to find two text messages. One was from Rob, the other from Roger. I chose to check Rob's first.

_**Flies is such a kill-joy. Anyway, we'll continue our conversation during lunch break. Look at your email because the briefs should be in your inbox. –Rob **_

I had to agree with him. Flies was the worst boss ever, even though I didn't have much to compare him to. I had worked minor jobs before, but this was the real deal. Not many people could say they were a barrister for London's most prestigious law firm. It was wonder how I landed the job in the first place.

After graduating from law school and taking the bar, I started applying for positions. I didn't bother sending an application in for Flies Law because I knew there was no way they'd accept me. Somehow, Flies got a hold of me anyway, and before I knew what was happening, I became one of his barristers. There was no regret in my decision, but some days I wondered what I was thinking working for him.

Peeking back at my phone, I noticed I still had to read Roger's text. I groaned quietly, thinking about all of the things my whack-job of a friend would want to tell me. Clicking on the message, my eyes widened at the length of it. It was true that Roger never could say anything in just a few words. It was a shock he didn't become a novelist instead of chasing his doctor dreams.

_**Jack, mate, how are you? Did you take care of your hangover? Hopefully you did. At any rate, how about we go out tonight? Maurice got another band to sign, so he wants to celebrate. Plus, Sam, Eric, and Simon will join us. C'mon, I know you want to. You can bring Robert, too. The man needs to get out more. –Roger, aka your partner in crime. **_

Another groan escaped my lips. Not again. I didn't mind cutting loose once in a while, but Roger seemed hell-bent on getting me snockered every chance he could. And he loved weaseling money out of me.

My attention wandered back to the message, and I quickly responded with:

_Hell no. I am not drinking with you again. Last weekend was too much. I was drunk enough for five people! Not to mention, I lost fifty pounds to you! Not happening, Roger. Go out with the boys, but leave me out of it. _

Satisfied, I turned off the phone, shoving it into my briefcase. I couldn't afford any more distractions right now. I had a case that would bring in a good sum of cash, so I had to stay focused.

Logging onto the computer on my desk, I shifted through my inbox to find Robert's emails. My eyes scanned over the briefs, reading them meticulously. Normally, Flies didn't have us working together, but this time he relented. The case at hand was bigger than most, which was why he needed a barrister and a solicitor. Robert and I were specialists in criminal law, but we had done other types as well. Every now and then, we'd pick up divorce cases or a personal injury cases.

When this case first flew across my desk, I wasn't sure what side Flies wanted me to do. As a barrister, I had the ability to do defense work or prosecution. I preferred defense, but in English law, we didn't get a choice. Our roles were determined by our bosses each time.

Flies put me on prosecution, which I was actually happy with. Eliza Thorndale seemed to be a very psychotic person. She had been accused of several crimes, including the rape and murder of her now ex-husband's best friend. I didn't blame Walter Thorndale for escaping from his ex-wife's claws. She probably would have slaughtered him, too, if she had gotten the opportunity.

Despite dealing with a psychopath, the case included a nice reward, which I was grateful for. I had to give my soul to win this one; not only was money on the line, but I had a reputation to keep. It wasn't a secret that I was one of the most talented barristers in London. I hadn't lost a single case yet, and I had been at this profession for a few years. Being cunning, sly, and demanding came naturally to me while I argued in the courtroom. Even getting the most tenacious judges to agree with me was simple.

I looked through all of the briefs, picking up little details I hadn't known before. I became so absorbed that I didn't realize a new email had popped into my inbox until I took a split second to rest my eyes. Clicking on the tab on the computer, I scoffed at who the email was from. Roger. He was nothing if not persistent.

A large part of me wanted to ignore and delete it, but the curiosity got the better of me. Opening up the message, I chuckled.

_**You ignored my reply to your text, you bastard.**__**You are coming out tonight, whether you want to or not. I will show up on your doorstop at an unexpected time this evening. You can't run, Jack. –Roger, your pissed friend. **_

Leave it to Roger to drop a threatening email to me that managed to sound hostile but humorous at the same time. In response, I sent him a one-worded answer.

_Fine._

There really was no use in arguing with him. Roger was possibly the most stubborn person on the planet. He kept pushing the envelope each time, and practically tortured anyone who dared to cross him. I knew that if I didn't give in, he'd literally drag me out of my flat, kicking and screaming. That had happened more than once in my life with him.

Even though I was taller and stronger, Roger was more intimidating. He was sneaky in the worst ways, always managing to manipulate everything so people could see his perspective. If he wasn't pursuing a medical career, he would certainly make an excellent politician. Plus, he was a bit of a sadist, and politicians tended to enjoy tormenting people.

A second later, a _ding! _sounded from my inbox.

_**Good. See you later**_, the email said.

Sighing, I berated myself for giving into Roger's demands. I was a complete pansy. Then again, I craved the attention and distraction. I didn't need excuses to mope around the flat, feeling sorry for myself. My love was thousands of miles away, enjoying himself on a ship. The least I could do was have some fun with my friends upon occasion.

Quickly closing out of my email, I focused on the briefs until they were finished. I printed out a copy for the files and slid them in. I began leafing through the rest of the paper work, drawing out long breath. I had my work cut out for me; there seemed to be a million pages to pour over. I didn't know that much about Ms. Thorndale, but I needed all of the background knowledge I could get to use it against her.

A soft knock came from my door a few hours later, causing me to lift my eyes from the all of the paper.

"Come in," I said, pushing the case aside and leaning back in my seat.

"Hi, Jack," Bill, another barrister, announced. He stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure. Take a seat." I motioned towards the chair, and he promptly fell into it.

His hands automatically went to his brown hair, ruffling it. Just like Robert's bad habit of pulling at his sleeves, Bill had a habit of running his hands through his hair.

"Having a hard time with a case?" I asked, taking in his worried and exhausted state.

"Yeah. I actually wanted to talk to you about it, if that's all right." A small smile appeared on his face, lighting up his hazel eyes.

"It's fine. I'm getting tired of reading over a case I have, so a distraction would be nice." I grinned, gesturing with my hand for him to continue.

"Well, there's this batty woman I have to represent. Apparently, Flies thought I'd be able to deal with her, so he gave me her side. I'd like to say she's guilty of all the things she's been accused of, but of course I have make arguments in her favor." He wrinkled his nose, frowning.

"Hm, kind of sounds like the woman I have to prosecute. What's her name?"

"Eliza Thorndale. She's horrid!"

I couldn't help but chuckle, causing him to stare at me in confusion. I shook my head, not believing the odds.

"It looks like you and I are going against each other this time around."

Groaning, Bill slid lower down in the chair, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, God. We're on opposite sides? I'm so going to lose."

"You don't know that," I reasoned, trying to sound positive. More than anything, I wanted to laugh. Not only was I going against one of colleagues, but he wasn't exactly the best barrister in the world. Flies must have wanted Ms. Thorndale locked up if he put me on prosecution and Bill on defense. I felt like I already had this in the bag.

"Don't try to cheer me up, Jack. Everyone here knows you're the top barrister. That's why Flies hired you fresh out of law school. No one else would have been able to handle it; that's why he put you on the case. I'm screwed, mate." His frown stretched farther on his face.

"Bill, don't throw in the towel before it even begins. No matter what the outcome is, I guarantee you that it will be a good fight. You and I will both fiercely represent our clients and whoever wins, wins. No hard feelings, got it?"

"Got it," he mumbled.

"Anyway, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"No, that was it. I just wanted to vent to someone about my client. Honestly, I'd rather give you the win. The woman is a psychopath," he whispered.

"No kidding. I wouldn't want to represent her, either."

There was a moment of silence before Bill did a 180, completely changing the subject. He looked over at the framed pictures on my desk and asked, "What are you doing for Valentine's Day? Ralph's still at sea, so how are you spending yours?"

I stared at him, puzzled. "What are you going on about?"

"Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Tell me you didn't forget."

My eyes widened in alarm. Shit.

"Um, that may have slipped my mind…" I trailed off, rubbing the back of my neck.

"How? You always mark that day on your calendar. You and Ralph send each other gifts, even if he isn't at home. How could you have forgotten?"

I cleared my throat, trying to compose myself. "I honestly don't know what scares me more: the fact that I forgot tomorrow's date, or the fact that you actually know Ralph and I give each other Valentine's Day presents." I arched a brow, crossing my arms.

He blushed, already going on the defense. "Hey! It's not my fault you waltz into the office with a huge smile on your face every time Ralph does something romantic. We keep no secrets here, Merridew. Every barrister and solicitor knows how mad you are about him."

"All right, all right," I sighed. "I have no idea what I'm going to do. Lately, I've just been thinking about case after case."

"Well, I suggest you start worrying about your first priority: Ralph. Cases come and go; Ralph is yours forever. You have less than twenty-four hours to impress your boyfriend." He smirked, rising out of the chair. "Good luck, Jack." He turned to leave, but before he did, he said, "Thanks for letting me talk to you."

"Not a problem," I replied, snatching the files from the desk to resume work. He exited, leaving me alone in the quiet room.

I only got another page read before Robert poked his head into my office.

"It's lunch break. There's food in the lounge this time; Flies ordered it. Let's go," he announced.

"If Flies ordered it, I'm not sure I want to put it in my body," I joked, joining him.

"True. It could end up poisoning us both after our stunt this morning," he chuckled.

When we reached the main lounge, the place was alive and buzzing with solicitors and barristers everywhere. Fortunately, Flies was nowhere in sight. He was probably out smoking, getting his daily fix. That was how he managed to deal with us 'imbeciles.' He liked to take the edge off, and the smell of cigarettes on his breath and suits was clearly the evidence.

The heavy aroma of gourmet pizza filled the air, and my stomach grumbled. Flies had ordered from the classy Italian restaurant down the street, Bella's.

"You look famished. C'mon, let's grab a bite to eat." Robert nudged me and the two of us took slices from the dishes sitting on the counter.

We dropped into seats at a nearby table and began scarfing down our meals. I couldn't remember the last time I had pizza; it had probably been months. The sticky cheese slid easily down my throat, while I savored the succulent pieces of ham. I paused in between bites to guzzle down my ice water.

When I finished, I glanced over at Robert, who was daintily cutting his pizza with a plastic knife and fork.

"Rob, it's pizza. No need to be formal," I said, gesturing to his plate of food.

He shrugged, continuing his ministrations. "Cynthia always yells at me for not being polite when I eat. I'm trying to work on it."

Cynthia was Robert's uptight fiancé. I had met her a few times. Needless to say, the visits didn't go well. She usually commented on how I wasn't 'proper enough.'

She was beautiful, but hellish. Her long, wavy brown hair was always in a tight bun. She always wore a black pencil skirt, a colored button-up blouse, and conservative heels. She looked like a businesswoman twenty-four seven. It was wonder how Rob actually got along with her, much less proposed to her.

Snorting, I shook my head. "Cynthia needs to get the stick out of her arse."

He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it. He nodded, agreeing.

"Remind me again why you're with her." Raising an eyebrow, I took a sip of my water, waiting for an answer.

"She can be nice once in a while," he mumbled, lowering his head to avoid looking at me.

"Right. I'm sure she's real nice in bed," I laughed.

"Shut up." He made a move to stab me with the plastic fork, but I dodged it.

"Rob, this is an Armani suit! You can't ruin it with pizza sauce!" I admonished, lightly socking his shoulder.

"Armani? _You_ actually pay attention to the brand of suit you wear?" A grin broke across his lips.

"Shut it. Ralph picked it out for me," I said roughly, bending the collar of the button-up underneath the suit.

He held up his hands in defense, continuing to smile. "Hey, don't go postal on me. If it helps, he's got good taste. You wear it well."

I rolled my eyes. "Good save, mate."

"Why, thank you. Speaking of Ralph, what do you have planned for tomorrow? I know he's still in the navy, but don't you two always send each other stuff for Cupid's holiday?"

"Yes. But being an idiot, I forgot that February 14 is tomorrow. I don't have anything for him yet. He's going to be so pissed at me," I groaned.

"Not necessarily. Just write him a letter saying you've been underwater with a case. Ralph knows you better than anyone, so he'll understand. This way, you'll have a little more time to find a gift for him. Better to get him a good one instead of a rushed one."

"Yeah, you're right. I'd rather spend the time thinking about a reasonable present. He deserves something nice, considering he's spending his life on a dingy ship," I explained, standing up to chuck my cup into the rubbish tin.

"Makes sense." He threw his things away, and followed me as I wandered back to my office.

I stopped just outside of the door, ready to drop the bomb. "Oh, by the way, Roger is forcing me to go out tonight. The damn bastard won't let up. I declined at first, but being him, he wouldn't take no for an answer. Here's the catch, though. You have to come, too."

His skin visibly paled as he shook his head profusely. "No, no, and one million times no. I'm sorry, but I have to be sober coming home or Cynthia will be infuriated. And she's not pleasant when she starts screaming," he said, lowering his voice.

"C'mon, _please_? I need a sane friend with me tonight. You can be my excuse to leave. Simon's too weak to protest, so he'll just stay and deal with it. But you could say that you needed to get home because of Cynthia and then take me along. You won't even have to drink. Just be there so I don't go overboard." I used my pleading voice, which was reserved for when I really wanted something.

"What's in it for me, Jack?" His eyes glinted with curiosity.

"A quarter of the amount I make on this case," I promised.

"How much are you getting?"

"Around 100, 000 pounds," I answered quietly.

He let out a whistle, patting me on the back. "Deal," he agreed. "Cynthia can handle a night if I'm out. Plus, I'm spending a fortune on her tomorrow evening. Let me tell you, fiancés are not cheap."

"I can imagine. Then again, it is your fault you're stuck with her. It's never too late to pull out now, mate."

"Uh, yeah it is. She'd have my head on a stick if I were to do that. A stick sharpened at both ends, so she could attach one end into the ground." He shivered, and then carried on. "You must be pretty desperate for an excuse if you're willing to pay me that much for one night."

I nodded, turning the door knob. "Yes, I am. You don't understand how terrible this past weekend was. I never want to repeat that experience again."

"Understandable. If I were you, I would avoid doing that, too. So, what time should I expect the gang at my house?"

"Roger and the guys will pick me up first, so I'll shoot you a text when we've left my flat. Thank you for doing this, Rob." I smiled, backing into my office.

"Hey, I'm going to be thanking you when you fork over the 250,000 pounds," he laughed, waving goodbye. "Catch you tonight, Jack."

"See you." With that, I closed the office door and started going through the files.

Several hours and one massive headache later, I was in my car again, driving home. I switched on the CD player and listened to the mixed CD Ralph had made me for our most recent anniversary. As the song, Vanilla Twilight came on, I began to sing along.

* * *

_The stars lean down to kiss you_

_ And I lie awake and miss you_

_ Pour a heavy dose of atmosphere_

_ Cause I'll dose off safe and soundly_

_ But I'll miss your arms around_

_ I'd send a postcard to you, dear_

_ Cause I wish you were here_

* * *

I could imagine Ralph right next to me as he harmonized, taking the chorus. Sighing softly, I turned to the passenger side to find it empty. The steel bars around my heart tightened for a moment, causing the slightest bit of pain. I was used to it, but each time his name even entered my mind, those damn bars would continue to crush me further.

What was worse was that I would be spending Valentine's Day alone once more. Each time the deadly holiday rolled around, I stayed holed up at home, refusing to go out. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle seeing other couples fawn all over each other when I couldn't even talk to my loved one.

When I finally reached the flat, I stepped out into the frigid air. Small puffs of water vapor escaped my mouth, proving that the London weather was indeed freezing and unpleasant. I pulled my suit jacket closer to my body, silently cursing myself for not wearing a coat.

Before diving into the warmth of the flat, I sprinted to the mailbox to check the mail. My hand grabbed quite a few envelopes, and as I made my way inside, I shifted through them. Bill, bill, bill, advertisement, advertisement, letter from Ralph…

My eyes widened, and I hastily shut the front door behind me. Settling on the couch, I tore open the envelope and found Ralph's familiar handwriting on a stationary sheet. My heart raced as my eyes skimmed over the words.

* * *

_**My Darling Jack,**_

_** How are you? And don't just tell me you're fine because I know you better than that. Tell me the truth. Are you taking care of yourself? Are you working too much? Because I swear when I come back and see that you've barely kept up with your health and are focusing all of your energy on cases, I will be more than unhappy with you. We will have a long discussion, I guarantee it. **_

_** However, if you are actually listening to my instructions, then I commend you. Honestly, Jack, you know how much I love and care about you. I just want you to be all right. Anyway, I'm done nagging for now. **_

_** By the time you're reading this, I hope you realize that Valentine's Day is coming up soon. Normally, a package would accompany this letter, but I have something better for you this time. The gift will arrive on Valentine's Day when you return from work. Don't try guessing what it is. I worked hard to manage this, so please wait for it. I know you can be patient when you want to be.**_

_** I cannot tell you in words how much I miss you. I don't mean to be sappy, but it's true. Every day that I'm on this ship, I think about you. I pull out your picture every now and then and simply look at it, taking in your fire-red hair, faint freckles, and sparkling blue eyes. God, it hurts to have to look at a picture instead of the real you. I miss the sound of your voice, the way that you smell, your laugh, everything. And it doesn't help when the guys here keep mentioning their loved ones. It just reminds me how much I miss you. Sometimes I try to focus on other things, but I can't help it when my mind wanders back to you. It always goes back to you, Jack. Always. **_

_**That was the sentimental part of the letter, by the way. If you could see me writing this, you would find a smirk on my lips. You know that I have to be somewhat cliché every time I write to you. And as a cliché, now I have to change the topic. What's new? Have you gotten a new case under your belt? And what have our loony friends been up to? Please let me know because I need a good laugh.**_

_** Remember that I'm on leave again soon. I'll be back for a month and we will make up for lost time, I promise. I'll always find you, Jack. I'll find you and come back to you.**_

_**Forever yours, **_

_**Ralph **_

* * *

My breath hitched in my throat after reading his words. How was he able to make me even madder about him through a letter? My stomach fluttered, and I felt the bars loosening a bit. A small smile spread across my mouth as I stood up to go look for a piece of paper and a pen. Right away, I began to write back to him.

* * *

_My Beloved Ralph,_

_Well, you said not to lie, so I'm not going to. I'm okay. I'm not great, but I'm not doing horribly, either. To put it in simplest terms, I'm managing. Yes, I am working hard again, but that shouldn't surprise you. You know that work drives me, just like the navy drives you. _

_I am not neglecting my health, so don't worry. I'm eating normally and I'm not doing anything illegal. God, Ralph. You sound so parental sometimes that it's amusing. I'm laughing as I'm writing this, by the way. I understand, though, why you'd be concerned. We are thousands of miles apart, after all. Still, I'm okay. I should be worried about you! You're on a ship in the middle of the ocean. Heaven knows why you haven't been through worse out there. Are you taking care of yourself? Please say that you are. It kills me when I don't have a clue because you could be dying and I wouldn't even know. _

_Yes, I am aware that Valentine's Day is arriving. You do realize how hard it is, though, don't you? The one holiday where we get to show the world and each other how much we adore one another is a disaster for both of us. It really sucks, Ralph. Would it be too much to ask for you to be home for one Valentine's Day? I'm sorry for whining, but you must know spending that day alone is awful. _

_You honestly don't need to get me anything. I know you won't listen, so I should expect something anyway. I do have to apologize for the fact that you will not receive your gift on time. I need more time to find the perfect one, and unfortunately, the date slipped my mind before I could purchase it. I promise that it will get to you. You have my word. _

_Me patient? I don't know what you're talking about ;)_

_Are you trying to make me break down? Because you're doing a good job. I miss you, too, Ralph. More than you could possibly imagine. I could wax on about how miserable I've been because you're not with me, but you already know. It's hard to not have you here in my arms. Every time I think about you, I try and stop myself because it fucking hurts. And while I was driving home today, I listened to the CD you made me. I couldn't help but wish you were there next to me, singing along. It's difficult living in our flat with all of our memories and pictures. Everything reminds me of you, so it's safe to say you're on my mind all of the time. You sure know how to get under a guy's skin, Ralph. _

_I would love to see your smirk at the moment. I have pictures with that smirk, but seeing it in person is the very best. You being cliché? Impossible! _

_To be honest, nothing too major has happened. I recently visited my parents in Nottingham. They are both healthy and doing financially well. My father still owns the restaurant, and Mother continues to work as a photographer. They claim they're too young to retire, and even when they reach seventy, they'll still work. _

_My sister just moved from Nottingham to Sheffield due to a job transfer. Apparently being a chemical engineer requires her to jump from place to place. She came to visit Mum and Dad the same weekend that I did, so that's how I know. Of course, she never bothers to call. You'd think she could tell her brother of all people, but no. Sisters are different people. You're lucky you're an only child. _

_I'm still working at Flies Law (some days I really wish I wasn't), but now I have a new case. I have to prosecute this whack-job of a woman who's been accused of some terrible things. The case is worth quite a bit, though, which is great. Rob is soliciting, and Bill is on the other side. This should be an easy win, but I obviously didn't tell him that. _

_Oh, our loony friends are just that: loony. Roger is up to his usual schemes, while the other guys follow. It makes me wonder why we're friends with them in the first place. _

_Now it's your turn. What's life been like for the last four months? Let me know soon please. _

_Love always,_

_Jack _

* * *

By the time I finished writing, my hand was about ready to fall off. Flexing it multiple times, I finally got the kinks out. I re-read the whole letter to make sure it was free of mistakes and then folded the paper delicately. I placed it in an envelope and sealed it, ready to drop into the mailbox. Rushing outside, I tucked it in and pushed the red flag up.

As I walked back inside, my hand reached for my pocket watch. Glancing at the time, I knew I had to get ready because Roger would undoubtedly show up soon. In retrospect, spending the night at home seemed like a better idea. I could lie on the couch, curled up in front of the fire. But Roger never relented, and sooner or later, I would have to deal with his wrath. At least this way, he wouldn't be too torturous.

Before stripping out of my suit, I set Ralph's letter in the wooden box underneath the bed. Right after he had left for the first time, I bought a box just for his letters. At times when I really missed him, I would pull it out and re-read everything he'd ever sent to me. As cliché as that was, it was my only way of believing he was still alive and waiting for me.

I began taking off my suit, folding each piece as it came off. I stacked them in a pile in the laundry basket, where I would eventually take them to the dry cleaners. Armani suits did not get handled at home; the material would get chewed up in the machine and then Ralph would kill me. He had spent a fortune on it because that was his parting gift. As silly as it was, I treasured the suit because it always reminded me of him.

Left in my boxers, I rifled through my closet for something to wear tonight. I settled on pair of medium-wash jeans, a dark green sweater, and my favorite black pea coat. Once I was dressed, I ran a brush through my hair, and splashed cold water on my face.

_BRINGGGGG!_

The ring of the doorbell made me tear my eyes away from the mirror. I made my way over to the door, sighing. This was going to be an interesting night.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Can you tell I love line-breaks? Because I've realized that I like to use them a lot haha. Anyway, I apologize for my crappy use of British English. I'm an American, so I really have no idea what I'm doing. _

_And if you couldn't tell, English law is a bit different from American law. Instead of straight up attorneys, they have solicitors and barristers. I apologize if I have the facts wrong here, but I did consult an attorney before writing this, and they told me what English law was like. So, if you are English, please don't be offended. _

_*Solicitors: They are attorneys who have gone through law school; they do the written legal work. They're not paralegals, but they don't appear in court. _

_*Barristers: They are attorneys who argue in court. _

_Oh, and as a side note, keep an eye out for Roger. He's a little weasel :P Hm...and I wonder what Ralph is getting Jack for Valentine's Day? Any guesses? _

**_Did you like it, love it, hate it? Please leave a review and let me know! _**


	3. Chapter 3: Iris

**A/N:**

_Well, I told you I was notorious for not updating regularly. I apologize for the long wait, but hopefully it's worth it. Would you believe if I told you I've actually been working on this for the last few months? It's true, and it's taken me this long. Trust me when I say, this was not an easy chapter to write. Please enjoy it, regardless. I hope it's not too boring. Oh, and we get to learn a little more about a certain weasel. Er, I mean Roger. And sorry, no Jalph in this chapter, either. There will be some Jalph loving soon, I promise. _

**Disclaimer:**

_If I owned LOTF, I'd have a huge party. Sadly, Sir William Golding still owns the original story. I wonder what he'd think if he knew I turned his male characters gay for each other. Could be quite amusing to see his reaction. I also don't own "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls. It truly is an amazing song, though. _

* * *

**Come and Find Me**

Chapter3: Iris

JACK'S POV

* * *

Throwing open the door, I came face to face with the devil himself, Roger Collins. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, clad in pair of dark-wash jeans and a grey button-up. His beat up leather jacket clung to his body, giving him a dangerous, bad-boy look. His mischievous brown eyes gazed into mine, while a smirk graced his lips.

I hated to admit it, but Roger was devastatingly handsome. His wavy, pitch black hair always looked soft and silky, indicating that he probably checked it twenty-four seven. His eyes usually showed that he was up to nothing but trouble. He didn't smile often, mainly because a permanent smirk etched itself on his mouth. And as intimidating as he was, Roger's stature only made him stand at five feet, five inches. His well built body spoke for itself, though. Guys couldn't help but feel jealous, and girls drooled constantly.

"Are you going to stand there and stare at me all day, Jack? We've got a pub to visit. I don't know about you, but I could use a drink and a nice round of billiards," Roger said, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

"Huh?" I shook my head, clearing it of the previous thoughts.

"You must have had a long day at work. C'mon, Space Cadet. You need alcohol in you, stat," he laughed, grabbing my wrist to drag to the mini-van idling in front of the flat.

"Is that what they're teaching you in medical school? More alcohol?" I asked gruffly, wrestling out of his grip.

"I wish. The people are so damn strict there. I can hardly get anything pass them." He frowned, pulling the door open to reveal the gang of guys.

"Hullo, Jack!" everyone chorused, flashing me smiles.

Groaning, I slid in and slammed the door, cutting off any form of escape.

"Why am I friends with all of you?" I said, not bothering to attempt a formal greeting.

"Excuse me, I'm the most sane person here," Simon stated from the driver's seat.

He turned around to glare at me, but because he still had a baby face, he looked more adorable than menacing.

"Hey, we're sensible, too!" Sam and Eric shouted together and then promptly fist-bumped.

Rolling my eyes, I had to ask myself if they were really twenty-three. Sam and Eric had grown up some since their grade school days, but continued to act like they were first year university students.

Glancing at Maurice, I arched a brow, waiting for him make a remark about his sanity.

He lifted his head from his phone to shoot me a goofy grin. "Jack, you know I'm not normal. Give it up," he announced, lounging across the seat, so I hardly had any room.

"Dear, Lord," I muttered, squishing myself against the side of the door.

"Can we get a move on, Simon?" Roger grunted.

"All right," Simon sighed as he backed out and signaled right to make a turn. "You are all so lucky that I'm your designated driver. It's a good thing I don't drink, or else we'd be dead by now."

"One of these days you're going to drink. You can't be a pansy for the rest of your life," Roger argued, leaning back in the passenger seat and resting his feet on the dashboard.

I tuned out Simon and Roger's bickering, and reached for my phone to text Robert.

_Hey, Rob. We've just left my flat. –Jack_

A couple of seconds later, a response came.

_**Okay. I'm going to drive there because it'll be an easier escape for us. It's the pub on 51**__**st**__** Street, right? –Rob **_

_Good plan. Yes, that's the right. It's called 'Castle Rock.' _

_**I'll be there in a few minutes. Want me to grab a table for us? **_

_That would be wonderful. Thank you. _

"Robert is joining us, by the way," I said, interrupting any further fighting from the front seat. I placed my phone in my coat pocket and smiled, extremely grateful that Rob was doing this for me.

"Is he really?" Sam began.

"Oh, that's great!" Eric finished.

"Cool," Maurice offered, not bothering to let his gaze drift from his cellular device.

"It's about time," Roger announced. "He spends too much time with that fiancé of his. Cynthia is it? I remember her. She screamed at me for drinking two bottles of wine during a dinner party at her house. Rob must like controlling bitches." He cracked his knuckles and snickered.

"Language, Roger!" Simon chided.

"Oh my Lord," I repeated. How was I able to deal these people? They were a bunch of dysfunctional twits!

"Am I picking him up?" Simon directed his question at me.

"No, he's driving himself. He said he'll get us a table when he arrives," I explained.

"Ah, good man. We are definitely getting him smashed tonight, too." Roger chuckled deviously, spinning around in his seat to wink at me.

I merely shrugged, choosing to keep my mouth shut about my plans. Instead, I folded my hands in my lap and let my gaze wander around the car.

My eyes landed on Maurice as he happily typed away on his phone. His dirty-blond hair was hidden underneath a fedora, and a pair of chunky aviators shielded his hazel eyes, despite the lack of sun. Actually, Maurice called himself a bona fide 'English gangster' because he wore loose fitting clothes, talked in short sentences, and flipped off anyone who bashed him.

And he just so happened to be one of London's famous music producers. Yes, Maurice Stephenson, high school drop-out, became a success story. Everyone in their right mind wanted to sign with this guy. Not only could he turn a group of wannabes into a legendary band, but clients loved how easy he was to work with. With his laid-back attitude, Maurice floated through life without a lot of worries. Despite his carefree ways, he knew when to be serious—especially if he was in a middle of a good deal.

When asked how he managed to pull off his career with hardly any education under his belt, he simply answered, "I know my shit. End of story."

The only uncertain thing about Maurice was his love life. He said he was too busy to date, which was true. With record deals, sound-mixing, and clientele to attend to, he didn't have time to maintain a healthy relationship. Plus, he loved his phone above anything else, and there was no ripping that device out of his hand unless someone wanted to die.

Still, it wasn't a surprise that occasional visitors came over to his flat. Every now and then when I stopped off to see him, he'd answer the door in his boxers, and girl would be draped all over him. Then again, I had seen a guy or two. He was known among us as 'Mysterious Maurice' because no one could predict his next move.

Shifting my attention away from him, I focused on the identical twins, Sam and Eric Rosenberg. They were certainly sneaky; through grade school, they became famous for their off-the-wall pranks. Every kid learned to watch their back when the Rosenbergs were around.

And being twins, they used to love wearing identical clothes so no one could tell them apart. It was terrible was when they'd switch for the day; Sam would take Eric's tests, and Eric would play all the sports Sam couldn't do (which usually meant all of them). Even though they stopped that shenanigan, they still had their normal twin charades.

At least now the boys looked and acted differently, so there was no doubt who was who. While both had the same caramel colored hair and energetic blue eyes, Sam dressed more conservatively due to his office job. His life revolved around computers; he did everything from debugging simple computers to installing the most high-tech ones. Eric never failed to make fun of him for it, but it didn't bother Sam. In fact, he liked to embrace his nerdiness by bringing up random but true computer facts.

While his brother adored all things dorky, Eric shined as the sports star. When Sam stayed indoors to study his brains out, Eric spent his time outside, kicking a ball around. At one point, he sought to play in a professional league because of his immense love of football. His dream, however, came to a halt when his parents decided his life choices weren't the best. To appease them and still enjoy what he loved, he landed a job as a sports announcer. Now, he could be found at any athletic event, giving a play-by-play of all of the action.

Unlike Maurice, both Sam and Eric had stable relationships. Of course, they had to go for twins. As of right now, Sam was dating a girl named Pamela, and Eric was with her sister, Annalisa. The girls had apparently met the guys at a local coffee shop, and the rest became history. It worked out perfectly because Pamela and Annalisa usually tag-teamed with the Rosenbergs to pull stupid high jinks. I laughed when Sam and Eric told me; leave it to them to find twins that fancied trickery as much as they did.

A soft hum came from the front seat, which made me turn my head to look at the driver. Ah, Simon Greenway. It was true that he didn't have a mean bone in his body. The boy was too innocent and sweet to do anyone any harm. Honestly, I had never seen him angry. Frustrated? Yes. Miffed? Yes. Bitter? Yes. Usually he felt all three when it came to dealing with Roger. But angry? No.

It was a surprise someone hadn't already snatched him up. With chocolate brown hair, emerald eyes, and a lopsided, toothy smile, Simon was the cutest kid around. Then again, his maturity could be slightly off-putting—it was difficult to find him when he wasn't serious about something.

Simon's one true dream was to become a professional artist someday. Being twenty-two and the youngest of our group, he was still a student in Uni. He was currently finishing his last year at the Courtauld Institute of Art. Eventually, he wanted to travel to Paris to jump start his career. I didn't have any worries about him working there; Simon's work never ceased to amaze me. Each of his drawings and paintings were distinctly unique and breathtakingly beautiful.

While the rest of us balanced bills, jobs, significant others, and obligations, Simon was free to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. Despite the freedom, he maintained his goody two shoes persona. Some of the guys found it annoying when he refused to cut loose, but that's what I liked about him—he could manage his work with his fun.

The reason why Simon could even afford nights like these was because he worked part time in the Institute's bookstore. Luckily, he wasn't a drinker, so his expenses didn't take a hit. He occasionally bought us drinks, mainly because Roger made him.

Speaking of the devil, he was bugging the poor kid. Roger kept throwing questions at Simon about personal matters, which always made him fidget. Simon had a habit of keeping to himself—it was probably a part of the 'tortured artist' image he had going for him. Whenever someone forced him to get out of his little bubble, his cheeks immediately flushed pink and he would reply in stutters.

Roger's teasing constantly bothered Simon, but inspire of it, Simon managed to become a slave of sorts. Whatever Roger wanted, Simon would do. He couldn't stand up for himself to save his life. If Roger said to jump off of a cliff and plunge to his death, Simon would obey in a second. It was like he was a puppy, waiting with a wagging tail and pleading eyes for his master to tell him what to do.

I never understand why. Sure, I had problems saying no to Roger, but there were limits. When the bastard was too much to handle, I knew exactly how to tell him off.

But as much as I thought poorly of Roger at times, he really was a good friend. He didn't hesitate to be a shoulder to lean on when Ralph wasn't home. Roger's sarcastic cover disappeared whenever he and I were alone, and his smirk dissolved into a real smile. The depth of Roger couldn't be easily seen; he had a habit of scaring people off with his rough exterior. Prejudgments were made about him all the time, but when one stuck around long enough, one could see the gentle person that lay underneath.

It wasn't surprising that Roger had a brilliant mind, though. He didn't look like a genius—his leather jacket, combat boots, and the cigarette that dangled between his fingers gave him total badass image. Of course, it was just a façade he spent years perfecting. Roger cared a lot, actually. That was why he spent his whole life working his arse off.

He hated admitting his credentials, but they were impressive. He was valedictorian of our class, graduated with a 4.7 grade point average, and received admission to Oxford University. Now that he was done with his undergraduate degree, he attended a prestigious medical school here in London, studying diligently to become a doctor.

Roger had many talents—it was kind of crazy what all he could do. Not only was he book-smart, but he was also incredibly musically inclined. He could pick up any instrument and make it sing with rhythm and harmony. His specialty had been the violin, and he had planned on attending a conservatory to become a professional violinist. So many places begged for him to attend; they basically threw scholarship money his way. Ultimately, he turned them down when Oxford accepted him.

However, someone this gifted has to have dark secrets. In Roger's case, his story was awfully sad. His home life sucked from day one, which was why he built walls around himself to hide behind. Raised by an alcoholic father, he had grown up with the theory, 'the more alcohol, the better.' Fortunately, physical abuse didn't enter the equation. His father didn't stay home long enough to beat him—he practically lived at the pub near their old house. Roger's undoing was when his dad called him malicious names and snapped at him for being 'too smart.' Mr. Collins consistently complained about his son's obsession with studying, instead of fetching beer.

Roger never talked about his mother. All he could remember about her was the look she gave him as she packed her bags, preparing to leave his life forever. He hadn't heard from her since. Not one call, one letter, one visit. Nothing. It was as if she had disappeared from this world.

From time to time, there would be a certain glint in his eyes that meant he was thinking about her. But as quickly as that look came, it faded. Roger couldn't stay vulnerable for long; his walls had to rebuild themselves as soon as they were let down for a bit. As a child, he desperately wanted his mother to save him from his own personal hell. When she couldn't even do that, resentment flared in his system and tarnished his already broken heart.

Instead, that role was given to me. I could recall every moment where Roger called me up and asked me to distract him from breaking down. And each time I did it, I was secretly glad because it meant that Roger was _human._ He had actual feelings, and even if he had a hard time showing other people, he let me see the real him. That in itself made our friendship worth it, despite my complaints about him.

Given his history, it was easy to see why he couldn't hold down a steady relationship. Not once had he mentioned who he liked. In fact, he didn't talk about girls or boys in general. He got pestered about it quite often, but his explanations went back to how his parents messed it up for him. Roger never got a chance to experience the beauty of love. In his mind, love consisted of broken promises, cloaked by darkness.

"Are you alive in there, Jack? Or do you need me to beat you in a game of billiards to wake you up?" Roger asked loudly.

"Huh?" I blinked, adjusting my focus to the current situation.

"Classic Jack," Sam stated.

"Always zoning out," Eric chimed in.

"Shut up. I'm just thinking. Can't a person think without being bothered?" I retorted.

"Not with this crowd, Jack. I thought you'd know that by now. I always get pestered about thinking," Simon piped up, peeking at his rearview mirror to take a look at me.

"Thinking is overrated. You've got to _feel,_" Maurice declared, glancing up from his phone for the comment.

"Says the guy who likes to _feel_ high most of the time," I spat back. "Man, you reek. How much have you hit up today?"

"I got a band to sign. That calls for automatic celebration."

"I can't believe I'm friends with you guys," I groaned, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window.

"Admit it, you'd miss us if we weren't around," Roger said, grinning. "As mad, insane, and obnoxious as we are, you love us."

"I don't have to admit anything."

Roger chuckled lowly. "I see we're a little tense tonight. Rough day at work, mate?"

"Every day is a rough day at work. If you had Flies as a boss, you'd want to shoot yourself, too."

"Please. I'd take care of Flies if he was my boss. If you haven't noticed, I don't tolerate annoying pricks very well." He flashed a sadistic smirk.

I didn't respond, so Roger pressed on. "The man looks like pig. Wouldn't it be fun to hunt him down? Like a wild pig hunt?"

"Roger, did you already start drinking?" Simon wondered, jumping into the conversation so I wouldn't have to reply to Roger's question. "You sound like you're already drunk."

"I might have snuck one or two beers during the day. Hey, when I'm not studying about some whacko disease, I have to do something with my time. I'm not as bad as the interns at the hospital, though. They make _me_ look tame," he chortled.

"How is that possible?" I said, shaking my head. "Aren't they supposed to be serious and responsible?"

"Key words: _supposed to be_. Welcome to the dark side of the medical field, Merridew."

"Glad I didn't get involved. I'll stick to law," I snorted, shifting my eyes to stare out of the window.

"To each their own." Roger shrugged, settling down.

All of us remained silent until Simon signaled left to turn into pub's parking lot. When he edged the mini-van into a space, we climbed out, stretching our backs from the cramped quarters. As I turned to get the kinks out of my spine, I felt a hand on my arm. Glancing over, I found familiar brown eyes lock gazes with mine.

"You all right?" Roger muttered under his breath.

I nodded. "Yeah."

His face softened, while his eyes flickered with concern. "I just wanted to make sure. You were pretty uneasy in the car."

"I'm okay. Just stressed from a new case. You know, the usual."

"Yes, I do know. You always work yourself to death. We can play some billiards and talk, if you want to. That should perk you up." He gave me a genuine smile before sauntering off to join the others.

I blew out a breath, shivering a bit. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, hoping to block out the icy wind. As I began walking towards the entrance, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. It was horrible to even think about, but deep down, I knew if things hadn't worked out the way they that had…

This was not the time to go down that road. Sighing softly, I let it go, locking it safely into the back of my mind.

"Hey, Jack," Simon said, tugging on my sleeve like a child would do to get his parent's attention.

"Hi, Simon. How are you?"

"I'm fine, but I wish May would come sooner. I can't wait to graduate and get out of here. Paris has never sounded as good as it does now."

"You're leaving for Paris so soon?"

He shrugged. "I spoke to my parents about moving. They have the money for it, but they'd prefer it if I stayed for the time being. I'm not sure what to do. On one hand, I really want to start my art career. Then again, I'm young and I haven't had a lot of experience. Maybe I should get an internship first with one of the London artists to learn the ropes."

"That's a good idea. Whatever you decide, I'm here for you. But if you leave for Paris, I'll go ahead and buy a ticket to come visit you." I smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

"I'll let you know as soon as I make my decision." He grinned back. "Do you mind having tea with me sometime? I just finished a couple more pieces that I'd like to show you."

"Sure. That sounds lovely. Call me up when you're free, and we can do tea and lunch at my flat."

"Thanks, Jack. I would show the rest of the guys, but I don't think it would have the same effect on them." His lips curved into a small frown.

"Simon, you never have to worry about that with me. You could create the weirdest piece on the planet, and I'd still think highly of it. You have serious talent, kid."

He blushed, raising his shoulder in nonchalance. "Thank you."

I stood on my tip-toes to see if Rob had arrived and spotted him sitting at a table. He waved his arms enthusiastically, gesturing for us to come over. I took the lead, while the others followed behind, chattering away.

"Hullo, everyone," Rob greeted us when we reached him. He rose from his seat and made his way to our little group.

"Rob, it's nice to see you. It's been such a long time. Ready to get wasted tonight?" Roger fired at him, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

"I can have one drink; two at the most. I need to keep my alcohol in check. Wedding coming up and all," Rob answered in nervous voice. He started yanking on his sweatshirt sleeves as he shot a glare that only I could see.

"Nonsense. You should have some fun. Ol' Cynthia can handle being by herself for a while. You hardly hang out with us, so the least you can do is make up for it now. C'mon, let's go to the bar." He steered the poor man towards the alcoholic oasis, and I chuckled lowly.

I made my way over to the bar and ordered myself glass of Chardonnay. Maybe Roger would let me off the hook tonight since he had a new victim to torture. Of course, I still had to keep an eye on Rob, considering he was my ride home.

Once the bartender brought my drink over, I paid my bill and ducked out of sight. The other men gathered around the bar, taking turns with their shot glasses. Simon sat with them with a glass of water firmly gripped in his hand. He smiled politely and flipped through the menu. Sam, Eric, Roger, and Maurice happily chugged their alcohol, while laughing loudly over some idiotic joke. Rob was placed strategically in the middle, holding a bottle of beer. He flinched several times, trying to avoid the gazes of our friends.

I didn't feel like socializing at the moment—I was pretty exhausted and crawling into my warm bed sounded heavenly right now. As soon as I finished my drink and played one game with Roger, I would ask Robert to book it.

I quickly glanced at the group, and judging by the looks of it, everyone seemed distracted. _Good,_ I thought. _They won't notice if I slip away for a while._

I headed in the direction of the billiards table, hoping to get in some practice before I had to battle Roger. The man was a definite pool shark, and I had to watch my back or else he'd scam me out of another fifty pounds.

I was about to reach for a stick when a sudden vibration came from my pocket. Pulling out the mobile, I slid the lock button and pressed it to my ear.

"Hullo, Jack Merridew speaking," I said formally, moving to the side of the rack so I wouldn't get in the way.

"Jack, darling! How are you?" the voice answered cheerfully.

"Elisa. Nice to finally hear from you," I snapped lightly, rolling my eyes. My sister had excellent timing. Not.

"Oh, hush. I've been very busy lately. It's not easy being a chemical engineer, you know. The hours are long, and the people I work with are chauvinists," she scoffed.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. But you think it's simple working for Flies? The man is going to kill me one day." I leaned against the rack, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

"Poor, Jackie. You did decide to go into law, you dolt. You could have picked a much simpler career." She giggled, and I could imagine a smirk on her lips.

"I didn't pick up the phone to have you criticize my career choices. What was it that you needed, Elisa?" I huffed, letting out an impatient breath.

"Jeez. Can't a sister call to check on her brother? I wanted to see how you were. No need to get touchy."

She sounded a bit wounded, but I knew better. Elisa was tough, and something like this wouldn't bother her. She loved teasing people, and as kids, I was her favorite target.

I sighed. "Fine. Sorry for being snarky. My day has been rather tiresome, and I'm currently in a pub with my mates to wear off the stress. They're being insane as usual."

"Understood. I'm assuming Roger is leading the gang?"

"Yes. He's completely mad, but I manage to tolerate him because he's a good friend. Our relationship is odd." A brief smile crossed my face as I thought about it.

"Mhhm. I'd watch out for him, Jack. Roger may be a friend, but I feel like he has a hidden agenda." Her voice dropped an octave, and it made me raise an eyebrow.

"What do you mean? Sure, Roger drinks too much, smokes quite a bit, uses foul language, and can be an overall monster, but he's a good guy. He's always there for me, even when…_Ralph_ can't be." I cringed at my lover's name, regretting my choice of words.

"All right. I won't argue with you, especially not over the phone. Just be careful, okay?"

Rolling my eyes once more, I agreed. "Yes, Elisa. Was there anything else you needed?"

"Actually, I called to tell you that I'll be visiting in a few days. It's been a while, Jack. The last time I saw you was when we both showed up at Mum and Dad's, and we barely hung out then. I'd like to see how my little brother is actually doing." Through the phone, I could imagine her grinning.

"I'm not that little anymore, I'll have you know. I'm taller than you are," I announced proudly.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll be in London soon, and we can catch up. I'll give you a ring when I get into town. Can I stay at your place?"

"Of course. You're welcome to stay there any time."

"Thank you. I'll let you get back to dining with everyone. Have a nice time. Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?"

Clearing her throat, she nervously asked, "How is Simon?"

I shuffled my feet. "He's doing well. He's finishing up his last year at the Institute and he may be leaving for Paris in a few months to start his art career."

There was a pause, and heavy breathing came from the other end.

"Elisa, you don't still—"

"No," she blurted out. "I don't anymore. And I'm certain he's forgotten as well."

I chuckled awkwardly. "Probably. It was a long time ago."

"Right. Well, sorry for making things uncomfortable. I should probably let you go then."

"You're fine. But yes, I do have to go. Take care, Elisa. Let me know when you'll be in."

"Will do. Goodbye."

"Bye." I hung up my mobile, and ran a hand through my tousled hair. I thought back to what Elisa had said about Simon and winced.

Back a few years ago, when Simon first started attending the Institute, Elisa lived in London because she was finishing up her degree in chemical engineering. She would often visit my mates and me, and during this time, Simon and Elisa had grown close. They struck up an easy friendship because Simon's artwork fascinated her.

But being the innocent, charming child that he was, Simon made Elisa fall for him. It didn't matter that she was four years older, or that she was incredibly serious in her line of work. I remembered when she would waltz home and sigh about Simon, claiming that he was the sweetest male she'd ever met.

Everything appeared to be fine; Simon seemed just as much into as her as she was into him. They occasionally held hands in public, and the little looks they exchanged meant they were obviously head over heels for one another. Even though they acted like a couple, they weren't officially dating. Elisa became slightly miffed at this—she wanted Simon, and she wanted him badly. He was perfect for her, until the truth came out.

One day, she asked him point blank where they stood. Of course, he didn't know what to say because it had never occurred to them that they could be more than friends. Elisa didn't realize Simon was this way with everyone. After all, he embodied the whole 'nice guy' persona.

The truth slapped her in the face and left her with a bruised heart. The problem was Simon didn't exactly prefer females; he had fancied blokes for most of his life. The rest of us weren't shocked, but Elisa got to the point where she wouldn't speak to him for months.

Eventually, they worked out their differences and now they communicated through occasional letters or emails. They were able to maintain a friendly distance, but Simon still felt guilty for leading her on. In fact, he was so torn about it that he almost offered to date her just to make her happy. When he told us his plan, we threw the idea out the window. There was no way Elisa would have liked a 'pity boyfriend.'

Shaking my head, I focused on getting ready to play. Grabbing a random stick, I chalked it up. I blew on it lightly and was about to reach for the billiard balls when someone beat me to it.

"You ready, mate?" Roger grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. He swooped up the billiard balls and began to rack them on the table.

"Hell no," I answered honestly, walking to the edge of the table so I could break. "I was going to practice a little before we played, but my sister decided to call and interrupt."

"Ah, I see. And how is Elisa?" He finished racking and stepped aside, motioning for me to make my move.

I broke the rack, hitting the balls as hard as I could. Sinking three solids into three respective pockets, I smiled and pumped my fist in the air.

"Solids," I said victoriously, running to the other side to take a hit. Lowering my head, I angled it just so, and slid the stick through my hand quickly, smacking another solid into a pocket. "Oh, Elisa's doing well. She's visiting in a few days and staying at my flat. It'll be nice to see her again."

Roger took a swig from a small glass filled with amber liquid. I presumed it was some kind of Scotch—Roger's favorite kind of alcohol. From his jacket pocket, he fetched out a cigarette and lit it, blowing out a puff of smoke.

"I'm sure it will be. You two haven't seen each other in quite some time. Are you going to tell Simon about this?" he asked softly, dropping his defenses.

It was uncanny how easily Roger could switch from his cynical attitude to being someone who was one-hundred percent real. It was certainly weird, and I had a hard time keeping up with it.

"Yeah, most likely. I don't want him to be surprised when she shows up. I know it's been years, but I think he will always feel bad about what happened. I mean, it got pretty ugly there for a while." I cringed at the memory, and moved to shoot another ball.

Unfortunately, I missed, so I gestured to Roger to take his turn. He stamped out the rest of the cigarette in the ash tray nearby. Grinning, he bent over the table, and lined his stick up. With powerful precision, he sunk four striped balls. Rising from his crouched position, he turned to look at me, blowing his knuckles and rubbing them on his shirt.

"I've still got it," he said haughtily, his brown eyes dancing with mischief.

"Yeah, yeah." I rolled my eyes (something I did often when I hung out with Roger) and crossed my arms.

"Well, I think Simon will be all right," Roger announced, referring to the earlier subject. "He may be too pure and delicate for his own good, but he knows how to handle tight situations like that. Elisa, on the other hand, I'm not sure about. She was in love with him, wasn't she?"

He continued to play, cleverly sinking three more balls into pockets. He didn't gloat this time, though. Normally, he loved to rub into my face, but he seemed content with just playing. I sipped at my Chardonnay, trying to come up with a response to his question while he moved around. He missed on the next ball, and I stepped up to make a hit. Aiming my stick on a slant, I struck another solid.

"I wouldn't call it love, per see. She fell hard for him, but she never outright said she loved him. I don't know; Elisa can be difficult to read at times. All I know is that she eventually wants to settle down with a bloke who adores every part of her, even the not so lovable aspects. Maybe he'll be a geeky engineer like her." I laughed, which caused me to hit the next ball off center, forcing it roll slightly past where I needed it to go.

"Nice shot, Jack," Roger drawled sarcastically.

"Shut up," I replied, walking up to him to gently shove his shoulder.

He caught my hand before I could remove it. I stared at him questioningly, but he shook his head and muttered quietly, "You know, when a person loves someone, they don't always need to say it out loud."

He dropped my hand like it had caught on fire, but fixed me with a certain look that I couldn't quite decipher. I didn't know what he meant by that comment and the look he was giving me sent shivers down my spine. It freaked me out that the shivers weren't even bad ones. I was used to Roger speaking riddles, but this riddle seemed to make my heart thunder in my chest.

"Pardon?" I gazed at him with a blank expression, hoping he would clarify.

"Never mind. Forget I said anything." He brushed past me to make his shot. He hit the ball and went to make another move when I stopped him.

"No, Roger. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You've had a long day, and I've had a rough one. Let's forget it, okay?"

He sounded desperate, and I tilted my head in confusion. For as blunt as he could be at times, Roger could be twice as puzzling.

"Fine," I sighed. "But you look like something's bothering you. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I know," he mumbled, his eyes wavering with vulnerability. "We can talk about it later. A lot of shit happened today, and my head's been a little clogged up with stuff to think about."

"Okay."

His mood shifted again, and the playful sparkle returned to his brown eyes. "Jack, I believe our game is about to end. Left corner pocket for the eight ball," he said, leaning to strike the last ball.

And of course, it made it in. I groaned, but refused to pull my wallet out to fork over money. He noticed the lack of movement on my part and arched an eyebrow.

"We didn't bet anything," I explained. "That was just for fun."

"Chicken," he snorted. "You're too scared to bet against me anymore."

I was going to argue, but thought better of it. "Yeah, you're right."

He took a step back, slightly aghast. "That's the first time I've ever heard you say that."

Shrugging, I gulped the rest of my drink. "There's a first for everything."

He chuckled. "I guess so."

Rob took that moment to flail his arms in the air to get my attention. If looks could kill, I would have been struck dead right then and there.

"Uh, Roger? I think Rob looks a little frantic over there." I pointed towards Robert, who was trying to fend off Maurice.

We all knew that Maurice could get drunk off a couple of shots. And right now, it seemed like the blond was draped over Rob, smoothing his hair and cooing into his ear. For a straight laced man like Rob, I'm sure this type of thing really freaked him out. Simon, Roger, Sam, Eric, and I were used to it, considering each us had gone through Maurice's antics. The best thing was to shove him off politely and yank the remaining alcohol out of his grip.

"Rob needs to loosen up a bit," Roger replied gruffly. "Maurice isn't that bad."

"Not to us. Remember that Rob lives a sheltered life under the control of Cynthia."

"True. C'mon, let's go rescue poor Robert away from the clutches of the dunce."

Roger moved around me to the bar, and placed his arms around Maurice. "You need to let go of Robert now," he said firmly, jostling him out of the way.

"Don't wanna," Maurice moaned, reaching his hand to grasp on Rob's shirt. "Need comfort. Rob's comfy and nice. I need a nice man in bed tonight." He leaned his head closer to Rob, which made Rob jump out of his seat. He ran to my side, shrieking.

"Hell no!" he shouted. "I'm not going anywhere near you. I have a fiancé waiting back at home for me!" His eyes blazed with anger, but they mainly showed his embarrassment.

Sam and Eric guffawed from their seats at the bar, and Simon's mouth curved into a tiny smile. Admittedly, the situation was somewhat amusing. At least Rob got to see what I normally put myself through each time I hung out with these lunatics.

"Get me out of here," he growled in my ear, grabbing tightly onto my shoulder.

"Will do," I muttered, turning to face the crowd.

"Hey, guys," I called to everyone. "Rob's going to take me home. I think he's had enough for one night." I clapped him on the back and motioned for the door.

We started walking, but I knew that I wasn't going to get off that easy. Roger managed to throw Maurice into Simon's surprised arms, and rush after us.

"Where do you think you're going, Mr. Merridew?" he asked in a patronizing tone.

"Home," I answered sharply. "Quite frankly, I'm tired, and Rob needs to see Cynthia."

"Nonsense. You two haven't eaten a thing. I bet you're starving," Roger insisted, pulling on my hand to drag me back to the bar.

My eyes scanned over the plates of food sitting on the bar. The guys had ordered fish and chips, kidney pie, bangers and mash, and toad-in-the-hole. My stomach started to rumble, and I could feel my mouth watering. Undoubtedly I was hungry, but was the food worth it? Rob was already shaken enough; I wasn't sure if he could handle another hour with my so-called friends.

I didn't get a chance to think through my options because Roger picked up on my hesitation. He shoved both Rob and me into seats against our will. I was about to say something rather nasty when he slammed the dishes in front of us.

"Eat," he ordered.

Rob was too scared to reject the demand, so he quietly began nibbling on the fish and chips. Glaring at Roger, I took a forkful of kidney pie and placed it into my mouth. I silently groaned at the taste; Roger, much to my displeasure, smirked at me knowingly. I hated when the bastard was right. Taking small bites around a tightened jaw, I ate simply to spite him.

"Don't be an arse, Jack. Just eat the damn food. I know you're famished; you've never been able to hold your liquor without something to eat," Roger sighed, sliding into chair beside me.

"Fine," I grumbled, obeying his command by stuffing my face with the delicious meal. It really wasn't as bad of situation as I was making it out to be. I just loathed when he could pull one over on me.

The next few minutes were tinged with tension, but being us, we couldn't stay irritated with each other for very long. I glanced over at him and saw that his signature smirk had graced his lips once again. I could feel my lips curve into a grin in response. We both chuckled, and he clapped me on the back.

"Feel better?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, mate."

Shrugging, he replied, "No problem." He shifted his attention to Rob. "You good?"

"Yes, S-sir," Robert stuttered, which caused Roger to laugh.

"No need to get formal on me, Rob. Am I that scary?" He was joking, but the wolfish smile he had on his face could make anyone think otherwise.

"No comment," Rob said briskly, finishing the rest of his beer.

"Aw, come on. I'm not _that_ bad." Roger pouted, which made me turn my head so I wouldn't jump in with a snarky remark. When Roger attempted to look innocent, he was a complete failure. The man could not pull a sad face to save his life.

This was when the rest of the guys decided to chime in. Unfortunately, there was never an easy escape with them. Just when I thought I could get away, they sucked me right back in. And that was why Robert and I found ourselves stuck at the pub for another two hours. Our group chatted about random things concerning our lives, ordered more food to eat, and drank a few extra beverages. Nothing too rowdy happened, but by the time Rob checked his watch, his eyes bugged out of his head.

"It's been a pleasure, gentlemen, but I really must go. As it is, Cynthia will flay me alive. Jack, let's get a move on. Another day of work is going to roll around before you know it," he babbled, pulling me up by the elbow.

"Right," I agreed, tossing some pounds on the table to cover Robert's and mine's expenses for the evening. "Flies will have my head if I'm not bright and cheery. Goodnight, Roger, Simon, Maurice, Sam, and Eric."

I waved to them, and each man smiled at me. Well, except for Roger. With a roll of his eyes and a scowl, he turned away, obviously annoyed that I wasn't staying longer. Before he could change his mind and stop us a second time, I grabbed onto Rob's arm and we made a mad dash for it.

We didn't finish our sprint until his car was safely in sight. Once we reached the black Mercedes, we released breaths of relief, followed by short bursts of laughter at our antics.

I hopped in quickly, shutting the door with a loud 'thump.' Flinging on my seat-belt, I repeated his words from before, "Get me out of here."

His car purred to life, and he gripped onto the steering wheel. "Hang on. You'll be home shortly." He tipped his imaginary hat, hit reverse, and sped out of the parking lot faster than I could come up with a response.

I wasn't used to Robert being so reckless, but I supposed that he truly did need to get home. He drove like I usually would, which scared the living daylights out of me. No one on the face of the Earth should ever drive like me. I practically cringed the entire way, silently throwing out prayers that I would be able to survive the ride.

Closing my eyes, I willed myself to keep the food down; there was no need to make a mess in his perfectly clean car. Waves of nausea rolled through me as he swerved around corners, nearly missing a few cars in the process. I would have told him to slow down, but when Robert was determined, his awkward persona morphed into a fairly competent one.

When we finally arrived at my flat, I took a shaky breath. "Thanks, Robert," I said, slowly opening the door to ease my body out.

"Sorry about my driving," he apologized, blushing. "I'm not normally in that much of a hurry, but I figured the faster I could get you to your flat, the sooner I can get to mine. Cynthia is going to murder me." He let a miserable groan.

"Good luck, mate. If you don't show up at work in the morning, shall I call the funeral home?" I joked, putting on a smile to hide the fact that I was incredibly dizzy.

"That'd be great. Make sure it's a nice funeral. I'd like lots of flowers and bucket loads of tears." He grinned back and waved. "Goodnight, Jack."

"Night, Robert. See you." I shut his door, making my way to front door of the flat. Releasing the key from my pants pocket, I let myself inside.

The place felt a bit chilly, so I decided to throw in a couple of logs into the fireplace. It took a few minutes for everything to warm up, but when it did, I sighed in contentment. Wriggling out of my clothes, I tossed on my blue plaid pajama bottoms and a white cotton T-shirt.

Robert's driving still had an effect on me, so to calm my nerves, I walked to the kitchen to prepare some tea. That was one thing Ralph and I agreed on from the start; when we first moved in together, we said we'd have the largest tea collection in the world. You name it, we had it. We actually had three entire drawers dedicated to different types of teas. Smiling at the nostalgia, I pulled out a basic chamomile flavor and heated up water on the stove.

While the water was heating, I flitted around the rooms to tidy a few things up. That was always the nice thing about Ralph—he did most of the cleaning. I generally enjoyed throwing clothes here and there, leaving my dishes unwashed, and letting dust cling to surfaces. Whenever he came home and saw my messes, he'd yell at me to get off of my lazy bum. Luckily, his bark seemed worse than his bite, so no major arguments arose due to my untidy habits.

When the kettle screeched, I dashed to the stove to pour myself a tea cup of water. I was just about to dunk the bag when a knock sounded from the door, followed by an echo of shuffling feet. Furrowing my eyebrows, I hesitantly crept in the direction of the doorway. A large window overlooked the door, so I could get a look at who my visitor was. I drew back the curtains and found a bedraggled Roger Collins on my front porch.

Unlatched the door, I frowned. "Roger, what are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" he asked softly, shivering in the night air.

"Yes, of course." I stepped aside so he had room to cross the threshold.

Once he made it inside, I shut the door and turned to him. "Now tell me. What's the matter? You wouldn't come to see me if something wasn't wrong."

"Can I sit down before I explain?" Again, his voice appeared sullen, quiet. There was absolutely no trace of teasing or sarcasm, which worried me.

"Sure. The sofa is open."

I gestured towards it, and he immediately dropped onto it. The warmth of the fire seemed to wrap him in a tight blanket of comfort because he relaxed slightly. He removed his leather jacket and sat without moving a muscle. The only indication that he was still alive was his slow breathing.

I came up behind him, but he didn't shift to look at me. "Would you like anything?" I asked. "I'm currently having tea, but I also have juice, milk, coffee, beer, or wine."

I expected him to tell me that he'd like an alcoholic beverage, but he shocked me by saying, "Tea, please. It usually clears my head up, which is pounding at the moment."

"Okay. Any specific kind you want?" I said over my shoulder, as I marched to the drawer to start rifling through it.

"Black if you have it. If not, then green tea."

"I have black. Do you want any honey, sugar, or lemon with it?"

"No, thank you."

He was being uncharacteristically quiet and short in his responses. I prepared the tea quickly, hoping to get answers as soon as I could. Placing both tea cups on saucers and then on a tray, I carried the drinks over to the coffee table in front of the sofa.

Roger lifted his tea right away and began sipping it. I sunk down next to him, grabbing my tea and letting my hands warm on the hot surface. I drank some before putting it back on the tray, and turning to face Roger.

"Are you ready to tell me what's bother you?" I kept my voice calm; it was a trick I had picked up on during my days a barrister to deal with the most anxious of clients.

He nodded, clutching tightly onto his tea. His gaze dropped so that his eyes wouldn't meet mine.

"My father contacted me today," he said, his breaths coming out harsh and labored.

"What did he say?"

Folding my hands in my lap, I rested against the soft cushions. Being a barrister equipped me for serious discussions. The most important thing to remember was to remain cool and collected, so the client wouldn't get any more hysterical than they already were.

He swallowed thickly, and lifted his eyes to mine. His brown orbs glowed with a certain sadness I hadn't seen for a long time.

"He told me that he has terminal liver cancer. He just found out, but it's too late. He thinks he only has a few more months to live. Right now, he's being rushed to emergency care, but there's not much that the doctors can do." He sighed, moving to set his cup down. He braced his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands.

"Roger," I breathed. "I'm so sorry." I leaned forward and gently rubbed his back. It was only during Roger's vulnerable times that I was allowed to touch him. He had strange reactions to being touched; it bothered him when people even brushed by him on accident. But he looked like he really needed the comfort.

"I don't know what to do, Jack. On one hand, I'm bloody glad that he'll be gone soon. He was a terrible father, and my entire childhood was ruined because of that man. But a part of me knows that I can't be angry with him. He may be an awful person, but I still care about him. And I'm fucking pissed at myself that I do," he mumbled into his hands.

The fire crackled in the background, filling the silence. I wasn't exactly sure what to say. With clients, I normally had no problems lending an ear and then fixing their issues because there was a certain detachment I felt towards them.

Roger was a different case; he was my best friend, and I had seen every scar and burn he had gone through. I had witnessed every ugly experience he had had. It made it difficult for me to give him any type of advice because of those things. All I could do was to just listen and give him my shoulder to lean on. I found it extremely frustrating that I couldn't fix him; he was too broken beyond repair. That was most depressing part about it.

I took a steady breath before I said, "Roger, you shouldn't be angry at yourself. He's your dad, and like it or not, that means something. Every child has an attachment to one or both of their parents, mostly because they are the people who start them out in the world. The relationships shared among parents and their children are not always positive. On the contrary, many of them are damaged in some way or another. But they're still there." I paused, but continued to rub circles on his back to soothe him. He was shaking, despite the heat from the flames.

"I understand why you're concerned for your father, but I also see why you don't want him around anymore. He said horrific things to you, which are unforgivable. Just remember that the alcohol didn't help. Had he not drunken as much, perhaps he could have handled fatherhood more effectively. It's difficult to say what could have happened. All I know is that you cannot blame yourself in any way, shape, or form. You cannot blame yourself for his actions, and you certainly cannot blame yourself for still caring."

His body stopped shaking, but I could tell how worn out he was. His head rose and he shifted so he faced me. His eyes scanned over my face with a look that could have stopped my breath. It was hard to explain, but in that one moment, I felt something terrifyingly frightening in my chest. The bars loosened around my heart the slightest bit, and it scared the shit out of me. I gripped the edge of the couch with one my hands, trying not to show how stunned I was.

"Thank you," he answered softly. "I really needed to hear that. I've been going back and forth all day. That's what's been splitting my head in two."

"Any time, Roger. You know I'm always here for you." I smiled, but was thrown for a loop when strong arms suddenly wound themselves around my shoulders.

Roger was _hugging _me. Roger never hugged anyone, including me. Even when we were children, he kept a fair amount distance between us. It was usually a pat on the back or the knee to show his thanks. I couldn't recall the last time I had gotten a proper hug from him; it must have been years.

I wasn't exactly sure how to respond at first, but after a minute, I wrapped my arms around his small waist. He buried his face against the side of my neck, letting out a breath. My head spun around in a million circles, and god damn it, Roger smelled good. I tried to ignore it, but the strange mix of cinnamon and a woodsy musk was enveloping me. More than anything, I needed to shove him off and demand that he leave. Of course, it was a little tricky, considering he was virtually clinging to me.

We stayed in that position for a few minutes before he pulled away. His lips curved into a small smile, and he said nothing more as he scooted backwards, giving us some space.

I wanted to ask him what that was all about, but I figured he had already gone through enough today. Instead, I asked, "Is your father the only thing that's been bothering you lately?"

"No. There have been many issues that have come up recently."

I took the hint. "But you're not ready to discuss those."

He nodded, his cheeks flushing the tiniest bit. "Sorry."

"No, it's not a problem. I understand if you need more time." I placed my hand briefly on his knee to reassure him.

"Thank you. And thank you for letting me inside tonight. I would have said something earlier, but the pub was too crowded for this. You know how it is." His eyes crinkled with melancholy because he was referring to his walls.

"Yes, I do. I'm here, Roger."

My words weren't profound, but they were true. Judging by the way his eyes lit up for a short moment, he believed it, too. The tension in the air lifted, and we exchanged looks of relief. Our banter returned to normal—we changed to lighter topics such as the crazy the medical interns that would help out in his classes, and the ridiculous case I was working on for my job.

We refilled our tea cups during our discussion; it appeared to calm us both down, so we probably went through an entire boxful of it. Oddly enough, every time I took a sip of mine, it tasted a little off. I wasn't sure if the chamomile was slightly older than it should have been or what. I shrugged it off, thinking nothing of it. What was worrisome was how sleepy and out of sorts I was getting. Maybe the day's events were wearing on me, but I could barely keep my eyes open after a while. By the time I glanced at the grandfather clock, it was past two in the morning.

"Sorry to say it, but I think I have to kick you out now," I said, rising from my spot on the couch. It was a bit disorienting, and I was having trouble standing from the exhaustion.

"You actually sleep, Merridew? Attorneys never sleep," Roger protested, but got up from his seat to walk to the front door.

"This one does. I can't deal with Flies without it," I yawned, stretching my arms above my head.

"Understandable. Well, goodnight, Jack."

He touched my arm and looked at me with a fleeting expression. It seemed he wanted to say more, but nothing came out. Instead, he yanked the door open and disappeared into the frigid night.

Closing the door, I leaned against it, and slid all the way down to the floor. I held my head in my hands, wondering what in the hell just happened tonight. I knew I wasn't going to get an easy answer; in my line of work, things never worked out in a simple fashion, so I didn't expect any different. There was no use in worrying about it now—it was late, and I had to get some rest before trudging into work tomorrow.

I didn't even remember washing the tea cups and placing them back in the cabinet, putting out the fire, and switching off the lights. The only thing I could recall was lying safely in bed, the covers pulled over my head. My eyes drifted shut, and sleep whisked me away, dragging me down into dark fantasy of a nice young man who had a faint scent of cinnamon and evergreens.


End file.
